


come get me

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode: s08e18 Threads, F/M, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Threads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 19:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: Her entire body shakes with adrenaline and grief and her hands are fumbling for her cell phone and dialing his number before she can think of doing anything differently.He answers on the first ring.“Carter?”The combination of his voice and the immediate relief and comfort she feels upon hearing it and the flood of adrenaline from a near miss and the swirling sensation of grief all mean one thing: her voice breaking into a sob as she clutches her phone to her ear.“Please come get me,” she chokes out.





	come get me

In the days after her father dies and her ring finger is bare again, Sam slips on a faded leather jacket that’s much too big for her–her father’s bomber jacket from-–and swings a leg over her Indian and takes off for the mountains. 

With the wind lashing against her skin like a whip and the Colorado scenery blurring in her periphery, the ache in her heart falls into the background and she can escape into the winding, twisting roads of the mountain.

The force of how quickly she’s moving up the road presses in on her chest, flattens her body down against the saddle of her bike, and it feels  _good_  to be pressed down and smothered like this. If she sits up, if she slows down, if she takes her hand off the throttle, everything will come rushing in: her father, Pete and her broken engagement, an uncertain future. 

She speeds up and eyes the speedometer. The needle edges closer and closer to triple digits and she just wants to get to the top of this mountain and up, up, up, close to the sky where she belongs. 

 _Just a little closer_ , she thinks determinedly as she flattens herself low against the bike and throws herself around the final turn, chasing that rush of adrenaline. 

Except her mind flashes to her father’s last words and the way his big, calloused hand had clutched hers tight and told her to be happy. She thinks of the way he had told her he loved her and how so, so proud he was of the woman she’d become. And then grief and loneliness, dark and suffocating, took hold of her. The emotion is so strong that it forces her to lose focus and lean much too far into the turn around the mountainside. 

The bike spins out of control and she gasps, adrenaline pumping into her blood, and she fights for control– _control, control, control–_ and tries to right the motorcycle back on course and away from the teetering edge of the mountain road. 

The front of the tire dips just over the side and Sam has a flash of panic and fear– _It ends like this?–_ before she jerks the handlebars and throws her weight back, pulling the heavy machine back on the road. 

The Indian hums back along the last fifty yards of road before Sam comes to a stop and kills the engine, sliding off the bike and onto the dusty ground. The engine burns hotly against her back as she leans against it, pulling her knees up and burying her face in her hands. 

Her entire body  _shakes_  with adrenaline and grief and her hands are fumbling for her cell phone and dialing his number before she can think of doing anything differently. 

He answers on the first ring.

“Carter?”

The combination of his voice and the immediate relief and comfort she feels upon hearing it and the flood of adrenaline from a near miss and the swirling sensation of grief all mean one thing: her voice breaking into a sob as she clutches her phone to her ear.

“Please come get me,” she chokes out. 

“Send me your location. I’ll be there.”

His voice is solid and confident and she feels like she can breathe again. Just like that the distance that had been growing between them disappears and the line goes dead and Sam shakily sends him her GPS location and waits, knees clutched to her chest, and trying to focus on not breaking apart.

Ten minutes later, his dark green pickup rounds the corner and stops next to her abandoned bike. She should stand; should get up and greet him and thank him for coming to get her when she’s falling apart.

But she can’t make her legs move and that heavy, aching weight of grief is pressing down on her again and she feels simultaneously out of control and lost. 

The familiar sound of his boots, the smell of his cologne, and the feel of his presence envelops her and she closes her eyes and lets out a shaky, watery breath. 

He’s next to her in a few steps, leaning down on creaky knees, and slipping an arm around her shoulders and tugging gently. 

“Sam,” he starts softly, fingers rubbing small circles on the curve of her shoulder. “C’mere.”

The heavy weight inside of her breaks open and she folds herself against his chest, turning her face into the warm flannel of his shirt and clinging to his waist and arm–any part of him that her fingers can wrap around.

She cries against him–cries for her father; cries for hurting Pete; cries for the loneliness that seems to live inside her now; cries for the lost time she and Jack have been wasting. 

He holds her through her tears, wraps his arms tighter around her shoulders, and soothes her as best as he can with soft kisses peppered into her hair and low, rumbling encouragements. “Let it out, Carter. I got you.”

_I got you._

On the top of a mountain, wrapped in Jack O’Neill’s arms and the promise of him never letting go, Sam finally feels the press of loneliness and grief recede. 

Later, when he wipes the tears from her cheeks and tugs her up and dusts the gravel and dirt from her jacket, they work together to load her bike into the back of his truck. It's hard work. The bike is heavy and he didn't bring a ramp and they work together--like they always do--to solve the problem. She admires the flex of muscles in his arms and allows a thrum of desire and arousal to fill her for a moment. Feeling desire for the man next to her is as easy as breathing.

Sliding into the driver's seat while she slips beside him in the truck, he doesn’t press and ask why she was riding like a demon along a mountainside (though she suspects that will come later in the night when he gets her home). Instead, he turns the radio on and rolls the windows down and halfway down the mountain, she decides to be brave and reaches across the truck bench to slide her hand over his on the stick shift.

“Thank you for coming to get me.”

His hand turns beneath hers and her heart leaps into her throat when he tangles their fingers together, palm to palm and fingers entwined. 

“Always,” he answers gruffly. 

Sam closes her eyes and relaxes her head back against the headrest. In his big truck that smells like him, the windows rolled down and fresh air filling her lungs, the heat and pressure of his hand in hers, and his soft promise of  _always_ , the ache of loneliness vanishes.

For the first time since her father died, she can can breathe.  


End file.
